


Love is Stored in the Home

by firelord65



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, F/M, House Husband trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28560054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firelord65/pseuds/firelord65
Summary: After everything that James has been through, there’s something comforting about the simplicity of house arrest.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	Love is Stored in the Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [symbioticdeath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/symbioticdeath/gifts).



> This fic is from Symbiotic and I's annual tradition (I guess we can call it that despite missing a few years XD) of prompting one another with tropes - aka Tropesgiving. This is from 2020; don't pay attention to that posting date nope nope.

Legally, James "Bucky" Barnes was wanted for questioning by just about every alphabet soup agency on either side of the ocean. Between his numerous operations as the Winter Soldier and the equally many missions aiding Steve and the various forms of benevolent, if illicit, super groups, there were quite a few open questions that would be neatly tied off with his intel. Along with some unwanted prison time, undoubtedly.

Realistically, the very same alphabet soup had their hands tied as the rebuilt SHIELD - sometimes referred to as SHIELD 2.0 by Natasha when she was particularly punchy or just _those uncreative, Cap-obsessed bastards_ when she wasn't - maintained that he was safely in their custody for handling. This kept James out of prison and Natasha on SHIELD's payroll. Everyone won.

_Practically_ , SHIELD "custody" was more akin to a very quiet house arrest. Not that James was "under arrest." Part of the agreement was a definite lack of charges or legal follow through. Just the consistent availability for drop-in agents from Hill to work through any current gaps in their intel that the _Soldat_ or a retired Captain America might be able to explain.

A lesser man might have complained. Natasha had certainly expected more pushback, her face betraying her guilt when she first slid him over SHIELD's offer across the table at the cafe they had met at. "It's not very flexible," she had grumbled. "If you have another counter-"

James had shook his head and let the manila folder flap closed. "This is fine, Tasha. Don't push them any farther."

She remained unconvinced. "It's got a lot of vague language there. I think they're angling to get Stark to put some kind of tracker on or in you instead of a bracelet. Something they can track by satellite and can't be shorted out," Natasha insisted. When she went to open the folder to search out her points of concern, James took her hand gently in his.

"It's fine," he repeated. "I just want one thing."

Natasha eyed him warily. "You can definitely fight for more," she said.

Her hand in his was warm and firm even when he squeezed it. "Get me the chance to pick where. Make 'em work a little bit if they need more intel or to debug any more trigger words out. I don't want to live in a grey, miserable box. Anything else we can work through."

Natasha wasn't one to give up a fight that she thought she could win, but eventually she saw James' point. Or perhaps she continued the back and forth outside of what she told him. Either way, James won the additional concession from SHIELD and that was that.

Two nights later he showed up on her doorstep with his duffle bag, notebook, and a promise to not cause a mess. Natasha had a smile beginning on her lips when she let him inside. He deposited himself on her couch and while that was where he could have remained for 16 hours a day while she was out, James preferred to remain active.

Natasha was neat but she also was still working for SHIELD more often than not. That meant late nights (or more often early mornings) and sudden deployments right in the middle of the laundry. James took it on himself to step in and keep the house since he was technically unable to provide for the household monetarily; all those accounts remained under the agreed upon asset freeze. Natasha hadn't asked for any help, but she hadn't needed to.

She had been surprised the first day that she woke up and found her discarded shoes had been tidily arranged on a new rack while her gunpowder-scented turnout gear was drying on the line outside. James sipped on a mug of tea while pretending to not notice her noticing. Natasha asked blithely later while not-really-listening to a video briefing from Hill if James needed her to pick anything up when she went out later.

"No, I don't think so," James replied as he kept his eyes on the newspaper in front of him - not the briefing, certainly. "Did you know you can get groceries delivered now? Crazy the things that are available."

Natasha did know and that was also why she wasn't surprised when she got in three days later after an international mission to be greeted with a crock pot filled with chili sitting on warm mode. There was a tiny sticky note on the lid. _Black beans, not pinto. Didn't forget this time,_ it said. She made herself a bowl and wolfed it down between clicking off the crock pot and packing the chili into some glass storage containers that still smelled new.

"You know that I've lived on my own for years now," Natasha mentioned at breakfast the next day. She had woken up before James yet in the time she had taken to wash up in the bathroom, James had rolled out of bed and was finishing up washing the dirty crock pot from last night.

He looked up from the sink. "I'm not surprised," James replied. She let out a soft sigh as she pawed through the cabinets to find a package of oatmeal. All of the boxes had been lined up neatly to the edge of the shelf or their contents dumped into snap-top containers.

"You don't have to do all of this is what I'm trying to say," Natasha said. She tore open the oatmeal and dumped it into her bowl which had actually been in the cabinet rather than plucked from the drying rack.

James finished drying the crock pot and tucked it back into the housing. The lid was next, flipped over to take up less space before it was placed on top of the fridge. "I know I don't have to," James replied. "I like doing it. Cooking, organizing, cleaning your gear - it's simple. Easy to do. And you've got bigger things to worry about than that."

He pulled out another bowl and clicked off the electric kettle that was about to start hissing. Natasha took the kettle when he passed it to her, swapping for a second pouch of oatmeal without a thought. "I wouldn't put it that way," she replied.

James lifted an eyebrow. "A cartel reselling junk Hydra serum is a bit more important than putting out the recycling on Mondays."

"I still don't want you to think you have to do anything more just because you're staying here though," Natasha insisted.

"Nat," James said, putting his hand warmly on her shoulder, "I _like_ being helpful. And simple is something that I can handle for now. It's much better than just thinking all day long. That just means hours pondering about what happened before. And you and I both know that isn't a memory lane to casually stroll through."

That got Nat to drop the topic for the most part, though she had one final demand before she dug into her breakfast. "Try not to break any of my gear. I'll never hear the end from Tony if I have to get anything replaced," she said with a grimace. "You're going to grovel in my place."

James pressed a kiss to her temple. "Deal."


End file.
